


if your heart wears thin i will hold you up

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Emetophobia, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Sickfic, high school era, pre-road trip from hell, prompto deserves all the love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 15:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11316660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: When Prompto doesn't show up to school for an entire day, Noctis is a bit concerned.When Prompto doesn't respond to any of his texts, Noctis is more than a little worried.or, the prompto sickfic that y'all are probably sick of reading by now, but sometimes it's okay to be spoiled by your friends. they'll take care of you.





	if your heart wears thin i will hold you up

**Author's Note:**

> pls accept this humble offering on this ep prom day where square seems determined to kick our asses
> 
> i know many others before me has written something like this, and all really great works, too, but i also wanted to try my hand at a prompto sickfic!! i wanted to explore the relationships between these kids, though gladio barely made it in (sorry big guy, better luck next time)... 
> 
> title from "beside you" by marianas trench

When Prompto doesn’t show up to school for an entire day, Noctis is a bit concerned. 

His friend might come off as the class clown who likes to goof off, but Noctis knows that Prompto’s attendance record is spotless and that Prompto takes his studies seriously, much more seriously than Noctis ever has. (Ignis is constantly reminding Noctis to learn from his diligent friend. Noctis neglects to remind Ignis that this is the same friend that invites him to pull all-nighters beating a video game in one sitting, complete with a bucket of ice cream and three family-size bags of chips.)

When Prompto doesn’t respond to any of his texts, Noctis is more than a little worried.

He frowns down at his phone as students surge past him through the school gates. He knows for a fact that Prompto’s phone is never far from his person; he’s seen more than once Prompto going out of his way to grab his phone before heading into the washroom to pee. For Prompto, a serial texter, to ignore his texts? Something’s up.

Noctis shoots a quick message to Ignis, and then he sets off towards Prompto’s house.

It takes him half an hour to reach Prompto’s neighbourhood. He’s not actually sure where Prompto’s house is, since his friend always managed to steer the conversation away when the topic came up. But he remembered Ignis’ briefing on Prompto’s background check all the way back to when they were fifteen and Prompto’s name became a permanent fixture on Noctis’ tongue. It’s one of the quieter suburbs, but also one of the older ones. Noctis peers curiously at the worn buildings as he walks. 

Eventually, with one emergency text to his advisor, Noctis finds himself standing on the doorstep of a modest house, an empty yard filled with overgrown yellow grass and dusty closed shutters. It says  _ Argentum  _ on the nameplate, but that’s the only clue confirming that this is where his friend lives. 

He knocks. There’s no answer. Noctis checks his phone again, but his texts are still unread. He’s really worried now. Maybe Prompto’s not home? But he would have told Noctis if he’s going away somewhere. But then again, it’s not like Prompto owes Noctis his daily schedule. It’s just, he usually tells Noctis anyway...

Noctis is about to turn around and worry about his friend at home when he hears the locks turn. Slowly, the door swings open a crack. A bleary blue eye and messy blond hair greets him in the tiny opening.

“Prompto?”

The door slides open just a little bit more. “N-Noct? What—” Prompto breaks off, face disappearing. Noctis hears a few very violent coughs. “—What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t responding to my texts,” Noctis explains.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You sound horrible. Are you okay?”

“No,” Prompto replies, leaning against the doorframe. The door’s mostly open by now, and he looks positively awful. His hair is a tangled mess, his face flushed and sweaty, eyes squinting from behind smudged glasses, and he’s shivering despite wearing a sweater and what looks like his comforter around his shoulders. “I feel like I’m dying.”

“You look like it, too.” Noctis makes to step in, but Prompto holds up his arms.

“Don’t come in!” Prompto pauses to cough again. Noctis winces at the forcefulness of the sound. “You’re gonna—I can’t make the prince sick, man, I’ll—” More coughing. “—be sent to jail or something.”

Noctis rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re dying.” He peers into the dim house behind Prompto. “Are you home alone?”

Prompto nods reluctantly. He waves his arms weakly. “I’m fine, though! Really. Thanks for checking up on me, but you should—you should probably stay away.” 

“No way, Prom—” Noctis cuts himself off, frowning. “Is your fire alarm going off?”

“Oh, shit, fuck—” Prompto stumbles away, and Noctis follows, shutting the door behind him. “My soup—Oh, no!”

Noctis turns in time to see Prompto trip over his blanket, executing a spectacular faceplant onto the floor. Prompto groans pitifully. Noctis decides to leave him there for now, hopping over him to cross into the adjacent kitchen. There’s a pot bubbling over on the stove, smoke rising towards the ceiling and alarm beeping loudly. He shuts off the stove and moves the pot away. 

“Prompto,” he calls, throwing open the window. “How do we shut off your fire alarm?”

“I don’t know,” is the muffled reply.

Noctis stares up at the offending alarm. In the end, he yanks the entire thing off and shakes out the batteries. The noise stops, and Noctis is suddenly aware of how quiet the rest of the house is.

Prompto is still on the floor when he goes back to the hallway. He’s rolled onto his side so he can breathe, but his eyes are closed and he’s curled himself under the blanket, shivering hard. 

“Prom,” Noctis says. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“Nnnrrgh,” Prompto replies. He blinks open an eye before shutting it quick, the crookedness of his glasses making his head hurt. “At least take me out for dinner first, dude.”

Somehow, they manage to shuffle Prompto back into his bedroom. He falls onto the bed with a grateful groan, immediately curling up under his covers. Noctis looks down at his friend, pressing his lips together as he considers what to do. He’s not exactly the best person to be looking after someone else. So he does the most logical thing.

He calls Ignis.

As he’s explaining the situation to his more responsible friend, Noctis takes a look around Prompto’s room. It’s much neater than he expected. There are only minimal furniture: a clunky wardrobe, wooden panels bolted into the walls as shelves, a twin-sized bed, a desk, and what looks like a full-length mirror with a cloth covering the reflective surface. The desk is empty save for some notebooks and what looks like bottles for contact lens. But it’s undoubtedly Prompto’s room, from the chocobo plushies piled up at the head of his bed—Noctis will never understand how a guy who has never seen a real live chocobo in his life is so obsessed with the bird-creature-thing—and the corkboard above his bed plastered with photographs he’s taken, so many they spill out onto the blank wall behind it. 

Noctis smiles at one of the photographs in the centre, a selfie from when Prompto finally got his first camera he paid for all by himself. The angle is all wrong, their faces taking up three-quarters of the frame, but they were both smiling so hard their eyes are half-moons from wide, happy grins. Prompto doesn’t seem to like taking selfies, unless there was someone else in the frame with him. Noctis has never liked having cameras pointed at him, but when it’s Prompto, he finds he doesn’t mind at all.

Noctis hangs up the phone with the reassurance that Ignis is on his way and instructions to keep an eye on Prompto. He perches on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, Prom?” He tugs on the blanket until he can see Prompto’s face again. Carefully, he pulls Prompto’s glasses off his nose and folds it. Prompto’s skin is burning hot. Noctis tries to keep his expression neutral. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” Prompto says. He squints at Noctis before deciding it’s too much effort. “I was... soup. But it died. I died. Am I dead, Noct?”

“I don’t think so,” Noctis says apologetically. 

“Ugh. Threw up last night.”

“Threw up?”

“Yeah. It was gross. Thought I gave myself food poisoning but then... I don’t know. Head hurts. I’m tired.”

Noctis pats Prompto comfortingly. “It’s okay, Specs is on his way.”

“Yay,” Prompto croaks. He coughs again, shaking the entire bed.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay?” 

Prompto’s only answer is a hacking cough.

It doesn’t take Noctis long to find a cup. The dishwasher seems to be used as a drying rack, and there is only one set of everything in there. It’s kind of sad; even Noctis’ kitchen looks more inviting than this. He spares another couple of minutes hunting down a towel to wet in the small bathroom across from Prompto’s room. He doesn’t dare step further down the dark hall, which looks even less lived in than the living room.

When he returns to Prompto’s room, Prompto’s eyes are closed, his expression is almost pained. Noctis puts the cup of water on the desk, careful not to drip over the notebooks. He folds up the wet towel and places it on Prompto’s forehead. 

Prompto stirs, blinking open his eyes slightly. “Noct?” 

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay,” Prompto says, eyes closing. He coughs weakly. It still sounds wet and sick. He doesn’t speak again, seeming to have fallen back asleep.

Noctis notices his hand twitching on the covers. Without thinking too much about it, he moves his own hand over, and holds Prompto’s hand. He watches his friend sleep fitfully, and hopes Ignis arrives soon.

 

 

 

 

“Prompto, can you wake up for me?”

Noctis hovers as Ignis leans over Prompto. He’d opened the door to find his advisor holding a bag of supplies, ready to nurse Prompto back to health. Noctis wants to help, but he doesn’t want to bother Ignis, so he’s just stuck hovering.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, and Noctis can’t remember the last time he’s heard Ignis speak so gently. Maybe once, when they were still little, and Noctis broke his arm falling down a flight of stairs, on the verge of tears as Ignis assured him that he’s going to be alright. “I need you to wake up for a moment.”

Prompto groans, but obediently opens his eyes to meet Ignis’ gaze. “Iggy?” he says. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Ignis says. He reaches for the towel on Prompto’s forehead where it is slipping off. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Sore throat? Headache?”

“Throat hurts,” Prompto says. He tries to sit up, and both Ignis and Noctis step forwards to help him. He lets out another cough as he lies back on a pile of pillows. “Head hurts. Can’t—Can’t breathe.”

“Alright. Have you eaten yet?”

“Not hungry.”

“He said he threw up last night,” Noctis supplies.

Ignis frowns. “I see.” He turns back to Prompto. “We’re going to keep you elevated like that for a while, alright, Prompto? I will prepare some porridge for you. You get some rest in the meantime.”

Prompto flaps an arm, eyes already closing. His mouth makes the shape of  _ Thank you _ , but the sound doesn’t come through. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Sparing his friend one more worried look, Noctis follows Ignis out into the kitchen. The advisor is already laying out the ingredients he brought before arriving. Noctis stands awkwardly by the counter. He’s never felt more incompetent.

Ignis, attentive by nature and habit, gestures for Noctis to help him unload the rest. He turns to the stove and picks up the pot Noctis had forgotten about. “What’s this?”

“Prompto was trying to make soup when I showed up.”

“Doesn’t look very appetizing.” Ignis moves to wash out the pot. “Perfect size for one-person meals, hm,” he comments, and Noctis knows his friend also did not miss how unwelcoming the Argentum household is. 

Noctis swipes a finger down the other side of the dining table, and comes up with a layer of dust. “I don’t think anyone else has come home in a while.”

Noctis tries, but he can only see a small, lonely Prompto, sitting in this cold kitchen by himself, clearing away the simple dinner he made himself, not bothering to clear the layers of dust gathering on so many unused surfaces throughout the house. It makes Noctis sad and angry in a way he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“Good thing we’re here then,” Ignis says. He tilts his head at Noctis. “I’ll take care of things here. Why don’t you go check on Prompto? Perhaps help him change into another set of clothes, his sweat-soaked chocobo pajamas can’t be very comfortable.”

Leaving Ignis to it, Noctis returns to Prompto’s bedroom to find his friend struggling to climb out of bed.

“Prompto,” Noctis says in alarm, crossing the room to help his friend. “What do you need?”

Prompto lets Noctis help him sit on the edge of his bed, coughing into his arm. He makes a face, pulling back. “I’m all gross.”

“You are,” Noctis agrees.

“Noooooct.”

“But you’re sick,” Noctis adds, and Prompto nods unhappily. “Do you want to change out of your clothes?”

“Yes, please,” mumbles Prompto. He lifts his arms and holds them up, eyes slipping closed again. 

Noctis stifles a laugh at this rare sight of his friend. Prompto often has a childish air about him, with the way he speaks and teases at Noctis, but he’s always been the type to pick up after himself. Sometimes Prompto even gives Noctis tips on how to clean his apartment or wash his clothes when Ignis isn’t available to do it. Noctis never ceases to be surprised when he’s reminded that Prompto is competent in certain areas he isn’t—though he feels bad for being surprised, because he knows how smart and capable his best friend is. Prompto is just much more independent than anyone gives him credit for. 

After seeing the emptiness of his house, Noctis can understand why.

He helps Prompto out of his shirt, balling it up and throwing it into the hamper by the door. Prompto’s eyes are closed by the time he turns back. He manages to dig up some clothes that look more or less clean, and nudges Prompto until the boy’s eyes are squinting open again.

“Pants,” he says, and Prompto groggily lifts his legs. He’s only in his boxers and that wristband of his on his right arm, but Prompto’s so out of it he doesn’t even flinch as Noctis helps him put new sweatpants on. Noctis doesn’t hesitate at the bare skin, slightly flushed from the fever. He’s seen Prompto in various states of undress before, mostly by accident or when they’re changing. He knows his friend is self-conscious about his body, and he respects that, though he thinks Prompto doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of. Not his body, not his grades, nothing at all.

When Prompto is dressed again, he flops backwards onto his bed and releases a long groan. “It’s so hot,” he mumbles.

“Sorry about that,” Noctis says, and laughs a little when Prompto lifts a hand to swat half-heartedly in his direction. He sits on the edge of the bed. Prompto’s eyes are closed again, and he’s breathing uncomfortably through his mouth. Noctis lifts a hand and brushes back sweaty blond hair.

“Noct?”

“Shh. Rest a bit. I’m going to go check if Specs is done, okay?”

Prompto turns his head into Noctis’ touch. “Okay,” he sighs.

Noctis runs the back of his hand down his friend’s warm cheeks. He stands, and leaves the door open when he goes.

 

 

 

 

Ignis has always been a caretaker. He is a Scientia, and Scientias take care of the royal family. Apparently, this extends to friends of the royal family. But after seeing the dismal state of Prompto’s house, Ignis can’t find it in him to be annoyed.

He’s memorized the procedures of nursing a sick person back to health by his early teens. Noctis’ immune system has improved greatly as he moved up through grade school, but there are times when he catches sickness most unexpectedly. Ignis knows exactly how to deal with a sick Noctis. Prompto, however, is different. 

The kid manages to clean the entire bowl of porridge Ignis brings him. He eats it without complaint, unlike a certain prince he knows. He must have been starving. He barely even responds to Noctis’ idle conversation. Prompto only looks up to tell him that it “tastes  _ sick _ —not like,  _ me _ sick, but good sick—I mean, it’s delicious, thank you, Iggy.” 

Now, Ignis is quite confident in his culinary skills, and even though Prompto says the same for everything he presents on the dining table... It’s still nice to hear.

He’s washing up in the kitchen when he hears Noctis’ strained yell and the slam of a door against the wall. He drops everything in his hands, and runs.

They’re in the small bathroom across from Prompto’s room. Prompto is leaning over the toilet, puking up everything he consumed previously. Noctis’ hands hover over his friend’s back, as if wanting to comfort and yet afraid to touch. It makes a miserable sight, and Ignis was there to witness when Noctis came down with the chocobo pox.

“He’s—That’s not—not good, is it?” Noctis says, swinging his gaze to Ignis before turning back to Prompto. “Should we—Should we go to the hospital—”

Prompto’s head jerks up. Feverish blue eyes try to find Noctis above him but deems it too difficult, so Prompto stares out at Ignis. He looks absolutely wretched. “No,” he gasps, “No hospitals.”

“But Prom—”

Hearing Noctis’ voice rising in panic and seeing Prompto’s face scrunch up in response, Ignis clears his throat. “Noct,” he says gently but firmly, “why don’t you go find a clean washcloth, and maybe another change of clothes for Prompto here. I will help him.”

Reluctantly, Noctis steps past him. Ignis wastes no time in kneeling beside Prompto, who is still staring at him imploringly. “No hospitals,” Ignis promises. “Now, go on. If it doesn’t feel good, let it out. I’m right here.”

He places a hand on Prompto’s back. He’s quivering. Ignis pins Promopto’s frizzy blond hair back as he heaves. There are fingers scrabbling at his knee, so Ignis holds out his other hand. Prompto grabs it, squeezing a little too hard.

Ignis holds the boy’s hand, and stays steady.

 

 

 

 

They manage to coax Prompto into the shower. He’s conscious enough to insist on doing it himself, but Ignis goes in to help wipe him down anyway. The boy is so tired he nearly slips in the tub. Ignis doesn’t comment on how there is only one towel on the rack, one toothbrush hanging over the sink.

Prompto passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Ignis checks his temperature again before tucking him in. It’s a little better after the shower, but he would still like to cool Prompto down as much as possible. After a brief whispering match against Noctis on why it’s a bad idea for him to attempt ice magic on Prompto when he’s still learning how to perform the spell properly, Ignis finds ice packs in the freezer, wraps them in some towels, and places them over Prompto’s feverish skin.

“Noct,” he says, and he watches the prince jump at his name. “You came here straight after school?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t answering my texts, so I was worried.”

“He’s lucky you dropped by. Did you bring his homework?”

“Uh,” says Noctis guiltily, “No?”

Ignis sighs. “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet either.”

Noctis shakes his head. His gaze slides back towards Prompto. “Is he... going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Ignis gestures for him to sit in the chair by Prompto’s desk. “You watch him. I’ll go clean up and make a call.”

He walks out with the sight of Noctis dragging the chair over to the head of the bed, reaching out to hold Prompto’s limp hand.

 

 

 

 

His head feels like a chocobo stampede took place, and not one of the nice ones the cartoons always show. Prompto groans slightly as he blinks open his eyes. He doesn’t feel so hot anymore, but well, he still doesn't feel so  _ hot _ . He feels exhausted, mostly.

There’s someone holding his hand. Prompto turns his head slightly, and sees Noctis slumped over in a chair, breathing slow and steady. His right hand is wrapped around Prompto’s. That position can’t be good for his back. Noctis never said, but Prompto’s pretty sure his friend has some sort of resurfacing injury in his back and spine.

Prompto’s opening his mouth to wake him up so Noctis doesn’t hurt his body any further when another voice interrupts him.

“How you feeling?” Gladio says. He has to duck his head to enter Prompto’s room.

“Better,” Prompto says, except his voice comes out warbled. He coughs slightly. “Um. Why are you here? No offense.”

“It’s fine. I’m actually here to deliver your groceries.”

Prompto blinks. “My... my what?”

“You have an empty pickle jar and a single egg in your fridge, Prompto.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Gladio makes a disapproving noise, but doesn’t say anything about the reflexive apology. Prompto watches as he shifts Noctis until his head is resting on the back of the chair instead of lolling awkwardly to the side. Noctis doesn’t even stir. He must be really tired. Prompto feels guilt crawling up his stomach. He presses his lips together, not wanting to throw up again.

“Oh yeah,” Gladio says, eyes back on Prompto. “Iggy was asking if you take some sort of stomach medicine?”

“Uh, um, yeah. My bod—stomach. My stomach’s always been, uh, weird, so I take the pills. I—I didn’t mean to throw up Ignis’ hard work.”

Gladio waves a hand. “No one’s gonna blame you, kid. He can make more. In fact, I think he’s cooking up a storm in your kitchen right now.”

“Ig—Iggy is?”

“Yep. Hope you like vegetables and soup.”

Prompto can feel heat rising in his face again. For a moment he wonders if his fever is back, but then he feels a familiar burning behind his eyes. He closes them. His voice is raspy and barely above a whisper when he says, “I love it.”

He hears the rustle of Gladio’s jacket, and then a large hand pats his head, once, twice, just heavy enough for Prompto to feel the comforting pressure. “Get better soon, kid.”

Prompto doesn’t trust himself to speak. He squeezes on Noctis’ fingers as Gladio’s hand disappears. He tries to collect himself until the room is empty save for the slow sleeping breaths of his best friend and his own shuddering, unsteady wheezes. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, and he has never felt so safe and warm in this house before.

**Author's Note:**

> find me crying about prompto argentum aka the best chocoboy aka pure sunshine that deserves only the best love and happiness in the world @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter!!


End file.
